


Santawolf

by DorianWilde



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive!Erica, Christmas!fic, Elves, Humor, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Romance, Sass, Sterek Secret Santa, alive!Boyd, future!fic, stereksanta13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:32:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorianWilde/pseuds/DorianWilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The elf gave Derek a long, skeptical look before clearing his throat, once again holding the open scroll up in front of himself. “Derek Hale, as you unintentionally killed the last Santa Claus, you will take his place, becoming the next Santa.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Santawolf

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sterek Secret Santa. I am so very pleased with how this turned out. Please let me know if you liked it :)

**Merry Christmas** _lacrimadraconis_

**From** _Wilderambles_

**Beta** : _Almostawinchester_  
  


 **Pairings** : Stiles/Derek, Boyd/Erica, Scott/Allison

 

**Summary:** _The elf gave Derek a long, skeptical look before clearing his throat, once again holding the open scroll up in front of himself. “Derek Hale, as you unintentionally killed the last Santa Claus, you will take his place, becoming the next Santa.”_

 

 

_\---_

 

**4:26 am, Derek**

**To Erica, Stiles, Scott, Boyd Isaac**

_Something's happened. Backup asap_

 

 

The pack threw themselves through the door to Derek's loft, senses on high alert. It was rather anticlimactic to see Derek just _standing_ there, wearing his usual frowning face.

 

No, wait. Stiles paused, catching his breath having run here from Erica's double parked car outside. He looked … sheepish. Derek makes-lemons-seem-sweet Hale looked embarrassed.

 

“What did you do?” Erica asked her alpha, crossing her arms over her chest. Stiles unthinkingly mirrored the gesture. Isaac, Scott and Boyd had their usual 'Derek's fucked up again'-faces. Stiles was ninety nine percent sure his own face wore the same exasperated expression. They'd perfected it over the last five years as a pack.

 

Derek shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I …” He cleared his throat. “I think I might have killed Santa Claus.”

 

-'-'-

 

They gawked at the body on Derek's kitchen floor. It was indeed Santa – or more likely someone dressed as Santa.

 

Stiles had realized years ago that his life was fucked up. Hoping the dead body on the floor was just some random dude and not the _actual_ Santa Claus (if he even existed) just confirmed previous knowledge.

 

“Oh my god,” Scott said, staring from Derek to the man on the floor, then back at Derek again.

 

“The beard is real, I checked,” Derek muttered, not looking at any of them.

 

“You pulled the dead guy's _beard_?” Stiles asked, appalled. Derek hunched his shoulders.

 

“Why would you kill _Santa_?” Scott exclaimed. Isaac sighed, hopping up onto the kitchen counter.

 

“He was sneaking around my apartment!” Derek vehemently defended himself.

 

“You didn't have to _kill_ him!” Scott insisted.

 

“It was an accident!”

 

“How do you accidentally kill Santa Claus?” Stiles wanted to know, because honestly, Derek 'fail wolf' Hale was the only person in the world who could say that sentence and get away with it. Derek muttered something, still not looking at any of them.

 

“What was that?” Erica said sweetly, tilting her head sideways.

 

“I might have scared him so much he fell and broke his neck.” Derek winced as he spoke.

 

“You went I'm-a-Bad-Ass-Motha'-Alpha on his ass, didn't you?” Stiles asked, rubbing his temples, feeling a headache building.

 

“Bad ass Motha' Alpha?” Boyd asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“We were speaking of Derek's shortcomings, not mine,” Stiles was quick to remind him.

 

“Can we drop the subject?” Derek tried to glare them into submission. He _must_ have realized by now that that had never worked. Somewhere along the line Stiles had began finding Derek's glaring rather … cute. But as previously stated, Stiles, and his life, was fucked up.

 

“Dude, there's a dead body on your floor. How do we ignore that subject?” Isaac asked, popping his gum.

 

“Let's just check his clothes and see who this poor fuck is,” Boyd sighed.

 

Stiles just had waaay too much experience with this kind of shit.

 

“Excuse me.” The unfamiliar voice made all of them jump in surprise. They turned around as one, staring at … an elf. A freaking elf was leaning against Derek's fridge, glasses perched on his nose and a green cap pulled down over his forehead, brown hair peeking out underneath it. He looked to be in his early teens. What made Stiles sure it was an elf? Well, the pointy ears were a dead giveaway for one, him chewing on a candy cane another.

 

“I'm looking for, eh,” he read from the scroll in his hands, “Derek Hale?”

 

Well fuck.

 

“Sorry, he's on vacation,” Stiles said, trying to look apologetic, discretely placing himself in front of the corpse because yeah, this was an elf and on the floor was Santa. The elf might be tiny and kinda frail looking, but Stiles bet it had hidden magic/ninja skills because every freaking supernatural thing they'd ever encountered had.

 

“Uh-huh, I'm sure he is.” The elf gave him an 'I'm not buying your bullshit'-look over the rim of his hipster glasses. It kinda reminded Stiles of his dad.

 

“Worth a shot,” Stiles shrugged.

 

“I'm Derek.” Derek sounded apprehensive. Which was pretty damn understandable. The pack tensed up, ready to defend their alpha against a four feet one skinny guy.

 

“Ah.” The elf gave Derek a long, skeptical look before clearing his throat, once again holding the open scroll up in front of himself. “Derek Hale, as you unintentionally killed the last Santa Claus, you will take his place, becoming the next Santa.”

 

“Holy shit,” Erica and Stiles said at the same time. Because really? They'd probably be better off with the Grinch.

 

Derek stared openmouthed at the elf. “But-” he began protesting as two other elves and a deer appeared out of nowhere, startling Stiles so bad he hit his elbow on the kitchen counter.

 

“None of that now. – Take care of that,” douche-elf said to the other elves, gesturing towards the red-clad figure – not really hidden – behind Stiles.

 

Stiles looked glumly at the two elves as they got rid of the corpse by hoisting it up on a deer with a bright red nose.

 

“It's official, nothing's sacred anymore,” he told no-one in particular.

 

-'-'-

 

When Stiles had been rudely awakened by Derek's text earlier, the wildest end of the night he could have come up with was him, ending up in Derek's bed, a lot of cuddling and other stuff going on. They'd had _moments_ that could possibly indicate signs that maybe perhaps Derek would be inclined to cuddle and other stuff. With Stiles.

 

Or Stiles was being delusional. Most likely. Yes.

 

The point was, he could never have imagined he'd end up at the North Pole. In Santa's workshop. _Derek's_ workshop.

 

Oh my god, it shouldn't be _that_ funny. Stiles’ attempt at choking back his hysterical laughter made him sound like a wounded seal. He studiously ignored the looks he was getting form the elves, the Pack and _Santa_.

 

It really _was_ that funny.

 

Stiles broke down in laughter, gasping for air.

 

He couldn't even _look_ at Derek, because as soon as they'd stepped foot on the pole, (after an _awesome_ journey by sleigh) Derek's clothes had magically turned into a classical Santa outfit, much to Derek's startlement/increased grumpiness. Had Stiles said his clothes now matched his eyes? Yes. Yes he had, because one does not simply let an awesome joke pass one by.

 

Luckily for Derek, he looked really good in red. Not that Stiles noticed. Nope.

 

Douche-elf, who'd finally introduced himself as Dean (which was a very un-christmasy name if you asked Stiles) Winterchester, had given them The Grand Tour. The tour proved two things to Stiles: the elves had cable TV (read MTV) and the place was huge and super organized and _of course_ they had a red and green theme going on.

 

“Right, now that that's done,” Dean said, sounding bored. “You're going to have to start delivering gifts.”

 

“We're on a tight schedule, and because you killed our previous Santa, we're way behind,” another elf said, handing each of them a cup of heavenly hot cocoa.

 

“This is my brother Sam,” Dean said, gesturing to the other dark blonde elf whose hair would have made Lydia drag him to a hairdresser's.

 

“Yo,” Sam said, nodding at them. “Did you tell them about-?” he began asking Dean, who pushed him.

 

“I'm going to now,” he snapped before turning back to Derek. “You will have to find yourself a Mrs. Claus-”

 

“Considering Derek's dating history, he's pretty much screwed,” Isaac drawled.

 

“-before Christmas Eve or else Christmas will be canceled.”

 

“Forever,” Sam added, because apparently douchbaggery ran in the family.

 

There were a few seconds of silence while they all processed that. Because, well, Christmas Day was _tomorrow._

 

Everyone turned as one towards Erica.

 

“It doesn't have to be a _Mrs_ Mrs. Santa just needs a spouse,” Dean added, smirking.

 

Well fuck.

 

“I'm with Boyd-” Erica quickly reminded them.

 

“I'm with Allison-” Scott said, almost stumbling over the words.

 

“I don't swing that way.” Isaac shrugged, looking sort of – but not really – apologetic. Stiles really wanted to bring up a certain rave, but refrained as Erica would undoubtedly slap him if he insinuated Isaac had liked Jackson better than her.

 

They all turned towards Stiles.

 

“Oh, come _on_!”

 

-'-'-

 

They'd split up, Isaac and Boyd going with Derek and Scott and Erica staying with Stiles.

 

“I feel ridiculous.” Stiles glared at his reflection. They'd forced him to dress up in a white gown with white furs and green boots and seriously _fuck his life._

 

“Hey, at least it's not a dress,” Erica smirked. “And you didn't have to dress like one of those creeps at the mall,” she added, grinning, patting his back forcefully. “Red really isn't your color.”

 

“Thanks,” Stiles drawled. He was feeling surprisingly calm about it all: not happy, but calm.

 

“You're gonna be Santa's wife,” she continued, laughter very obvious in her voice.

 

“Figured you were going to bring that up. You know, why can't _you_ just-”

 

“No.”

 

“But-”

 

“No.”

 

“Ericaaa,” Stiles whined.

 

“Nu-huh,” she pinched his cheek, still grinning. “I bet Derek prefers you to me anyways,” she added.

 

“Wha- that's- psssh,” Stiles stuttered, waiving it off. Stiles might have a tiny, teensy little crush going, but Derek definitely felt nothing for him.

 

Right?

 

Scott, thankfully, chose that moment to change the subject. “It's weird, they don't seem very upset the old Santa died,” he remarked quietly.

 

“Maybe he was a douche?” Stiles suggested. “Douche by association. That would be understandable.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.”

 

“Are we sure we can't get out of this one?” Stiles asked his pack mates. _Because Derek doesn't like me and this feels really weird, because,_ marriage _, but if he doesn't like me why didn't he object-_

 

“That depends. How much do you like Christmas?” Scott asked.

 

“Low blow, dude.”

 

-'-'-

 

“I now pronounce you Mr. and Mr. Claus,” Dean said unenthusiastically.

 

“I am not taking your last name,” Stiles informed Derek who just rolled his eyes.

 

“You're supposed to kiss,” Sam informed them gleefully.

 

“Wha- mmph!” Stiles was rudely interrupted by Derek kissing him. “Oh-kay,” he said a bit breathlessly.

 

Derek's cheeks had a suspicious red tint to them.

 

-'-'-

 

“You're very quiet,” Stiles remarked, sitting next to Derek in the largest sleigh. Someone had handed him a green Christmas hat with a matching coat. Stiles had taken them because anything was better than the furry monstrosity he'd been wearing before.

 

They'd split up to be able to deliver the gifts on time, Stiles ending up with his new husband, which okay.

 

Married. They were married. _Oh my freaking god._

 

“It's a bit overwhelming,” Derek said shortly, hesitantly taking the reins.

 

“Mm, tell me about it. You're kinda calm though.”

 

“The elf put something in my cocoa.”

 

Stiles blinked in surprise, then thought about how calm he himself had been feeling. “Nothing is fucking sacred anymore,” he sulked, kicking the floor of the sleigh.

 

-'-'-

 

“Run!” Derek hissed, pushing him. Stiles dived out the window into a snowdrift, Derek landing next to him a few seconds later, the window closing behind them.

 

“Dogs. I hate dogs,” Derek muttered, face down in the snow.

 

“Shouldn't you be able to be all like 'I am Alpha, hear me roar'?”

 

“I tried. Apparently I give off Santa-vibes.”

 

“Dogs don't like Santa?” Stiles asked in surprise. Derek kept silent. “Oh my god, they totally gave you a tongue bath, didn't they?” Stiles cackled.

 

Derek pushed him.

 

-'-'-

 

“Stiles, watch out for-!” Derek didn't get to finish his whisper.

 

Crash!

 

“Shit shit shit that looks expensive,” Stiles whispered back, a bit panicked because he’d bet anything that vase cost more than his dad's house.

 

“Let's leave the stuff and run.” Derek quickly threw some random gifts under the tree, dragging Stiles back to the chimney.

 

“Dude, were those even the right gifts?” Stiles asked once they were back in the sleigh.

 

“...”

 

“You have no idea, do you?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

-'-'-

 

“Well, this is cozy,” Stiles remarked.

 

“You looked cold,” Derek claimed, arm firmly around Stiles' shoulders, looking straight ahead as they left Minnesota behind them.

 

-'-'-

 

“Last house! Yes!” Stiles made a celebratory fist pump as they silently landed on the roof.

 

“Um.” Derek scratched the back of his head, not looking at Stiles.

 

“What?” Stiles asked, just knowing he was wearing his ‘Derek's fucked up again’ face.

 

“I'm out of gifts.”

  
“Are you _serious_?” Stiles face palmed, once again wondering how Derek had managed to survive all these years. Derek jumped out of the sleigh, striding purposefully to the edge of the roof.

 

“Where are you going?” Stiles hissed. Derek didn't answer, just leaped off the roof and broke into a run.

 

-'-'-

 

“I can't believe you broke into a 7-eleven.”

 

“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek quickly stuffed the magazines, _twizzlers_ and gift certificates under the merrily glowing tree.

 

“We should at least wrap them,” Stiles muttered. Derek glared at him before dragging a blanket over from the couch, draping it around the gifts.

 

“Happy?” he snapped, stomping back to the chimney.

 

“Ecstatic.”

 

-'-'-

 

“Well. That went surprisingly well,” Erica said, sprawled on the couch in Santa's sitting room. The rest of the pack was spread out in various positions screaming exhaustion.

 

“Erica bit a dog,” Boyd said to the room in general.

 

“Well done,” Derek muttered, sounding half asleep, face pressed against his pillow on his bed. _Their_ bed, Stiles corrected himself, a butterfly-reserve suddenly opening up in his stomach.

 

“Can we fire Dean?” Scott asked.

 

“No,” Dean answered, entering the room. “7-eleven, _really_?” he asked Derek. Derek shrugged, not bothering to open his eyes.

 

“You're short,” Stiles countered. “And- and you have girly lashes.”

 

Dean gave him an unimpressed look. “You're free to do whatever the fuck you want until next December,” he told Derek. Derek snored.

 

-'-'-

 

“Are we gonna talk about it?” Stiles asked the next morning when Derek finally woke up. Sitting next to the bed in a chair, he poked Derek in the chest until he blearily sat up.

 

“Huh?” Derek squinted at him. Stiles shoved a cup of un-drugged coffee into his hands.

 

“About the fact that we're married? And you're Santa? And this is weird and I slept on the couch and Dean is creeping me out-”

 

Derek clamped his hand over Stiles' mouth, taking a sip of coffee. “No,” he said, putting the cup on the bedside table. “Let's just take it from here.” He laid back down, making room for Stiles, curling up around him.

 

“... I demand we talk about this eventually.”

 

“Shut up, Stiles.”

 

-'-'-

 

“Okay, so I've got a plan,” Erica muttered in Isaac’s ear. “We're going to have to steal the naughty/nice lists, an eraser and a defibrillator.”

 

**Three hundred and sixty three days later**

Dean frowned as he dismounted his beloved impala-deer, patting her on her soft mule. He had his suspicions but no proof. Derek Hale had died under some very mysterious circumstances, body nowhere to be found. His name was no longer on the naughty/nice list, which made it impossible to track him and once a new Santa had gotten the part, a past one could not get it back.

 

There was a perpetrator though. He sighed, vowing he'd force Sammy to do this next time.

 

“Deucalion-,” he began.

 

“I AM DEMON SANTA!”

 

Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly.

 

**The End**

 

(Impala deer is an actual animal that exists. Just FYI. Google it! They are adorable.)


End file.
